_Curtis Again on his Travels.--A Loving Episode.--Dan McCowan Again
Turns Up.--The Capture of Curtis.--A Fight For Life, and Escape.--A Bit
of Matrimony._
The next day, my operative took his leave of the Harcourt family, and
continued on his way to Richmond. He, however, gave them his promise,
that he would visit them again before long, a promise he was in no wise
loath to keep, as Mary had joined her request to that of her father,
that he should not fail to give them a call, when he was in their
vicinity.
The truth was my operative, who was a very excellent young man, and,
notwithstanding his calling, susceptible to the charms of the fair sex,
was not a little smitten by the fair Mary, whom he had met under
circumstances that would have caused even a less romantic person than
himself to have fallen in love with her at once.
On the other hand, the girl's feelings of gratitude and admiration for
the young man, who had rescued her from McCowan's clutches, were those
almost akin to love; but with true maidenly modesty, she simply treated
him with that delicate courtesy that, while it showed plainly her high
regard for him, yet it in no way overstepped the bounds of strict
propriety. It was evident, however, that she regarded him as one who
certainly had strong claims upon her friendship and esteem.
Bidding them good-bye, then, Curtis took leave of the family, whom he
had known but a single night, yet who, in that brief space, had grown to
be like old acquaintances; and his regret on leaving them, was very much
like that in parting from old and intimate friends.
Taking the route by Glendale, he, towards evening, arrived at Richmond,
without any event worthy of notice, and put up at Miller's Hotel.
A few weeks later found him on his return to the Army of the Potomac,
and in his possession important dispatches that he had obtained in the
rebel capital. As he left Richmond, the news reached that city of the
evacuation of Yorktown by the rebels, and their retreat up the peninsula
towards Williamsburgh. The effect of these tidings was anything but
encouraging to those who had hoped that a final and decisive battle
would have been fought at Yorktown, and the further advance of the Union
troops effectually checked.
McClellan's vigorous preparations, however, for a protracted siege, had
decided the rebels that it would be useless to risk a battle here, and
they consequently determined to evacuate the place, which they did on
the fifth of May, and by noon of the same day McClellan's army had
broken camp and was in full pursuit. With such celerity did he make his
movements, and so closely did he press the Confederates, that on the
following day they were compelled to make a stand, and here was fought
the battle of Williamsburgh, in which the rebels were defeated, and
continued their retreat towards Richmond.
The army of the Potomac now continued its advance, with all the rapidity
the terrible condition of the roads would permit, having for its base of
supplies the York River, until two weeks later it rested between the
Pamunkey and the Chickahominy. It was at this stage of affairs on the
Peninsula, that Curtis was on his return trip from Richmond. With his
passes in his pocket, his dispatches securely concealed about him, and
his trusty horse as his only companion, he set out for his long ride to
Wilson's Landing, and the headquarters of the Union army.
It was his purpose to stop by the way long enough to at least inquire
after the health of the Harcourt family, and learn how they had fared
during his absence. So, pushing rapidly ahead, towards the close of what
had been a beautiful day in May, he, near nightfall, found himself at
Farmer Harcourt's door, where he was most cordially welcomed.
His jaded horse was led to the barn to be watered and fed, while he was
soon resting his tired limbs in an easy chair, while waiting a tempting
supper that was almost ready for an appetite keenly whetted by his long
and hard day's ride.
His object now, was to stop long enough to rest himself and horse, and
then push on by night and endeavor to reach the Federal lines by
daybreak. Mr. Harcourt informed him that they had not been molested by
McCowan since his former visit, and that it was reported that he had
formed a band of Guerrillas, and at their head was pillaging and robbing
the people in an adjoining county.
"He is an unscrupulous villain," observed the old gentleman, "and I
confess I stand in no little dread that he may pay us a visit at any
time, in which case, if we escape with our lives, we may consider
ourselves fortunate. I have," he added, "fully made up my mind to take
my family, leave my home here, and, if possible, go North, where a man
of my way of thinking can live in security and peace. If I were younger,
I would enlist, myself, but my fighting days are past."
"I trust you may soon be able to get away from here," said Curtis; "and
as the Union army is now advancing up the Peninsula, you can, I think,
with little danger, make your way into its lines."
He then informed him of the evacuation of Yorktown, and of the retreat
of the Confederates, and advised him to hasten his arrangements to go
North, while this opportunity afforded him a way to do so with safety.
After the evening meal was over the family seated themselves on a
pleasant little porch, that ran along one side of the old-fashioned
house, facing the west, and in the deepening twilight they sat and
talked over the trying times, and united in their wishes for a speedy
termination of the fratricidal conflict.
Thus the evening passed until near ten o'clock, when my operative
informed his friends that he must take his departure, as he was
determined, if possible, to reach the Union lines by daybreak.
The whole family urged him to pass the night with them; but finding him
bent on going, his horse was ordered to the door, and he prepared to
take his leave.
He shook hands with the good farmer and his wife, and looked anxiously
around for Mary; surely she would bid him good-bye before he went away,
but she was nowhere to be seen. He even lingered a few moments, hoping
she would return; she did not, however, put in an appearance; so,
leaving his regards for her with her parents, he mounted his horse, and
with a heavy heart rode along down the long, narrow lane that led from
the house to the main road.
He could not understand why the girl should have absented herself just
as he was taking his leave; could it be that he had in any way offended
her, that she should avoid him on purpose? Revolving the matter in his
mind, and feeling that hereafter he would take pains to avoid the
Harcourt mansion, he now approached the terminus of the lane, still
buried in thought, when his horse, becoming frightened, shied slightly
to one side; hastily raising his eyes, he saw, to his amazement, the
object of his thoughts standing by the roadside.
He checked his horse, and, in a tone that betrayed his astonishment,
exclaimed, "You here, Miss Mary!"
"Yes," she answered, evidently a little confused, "I wanted to see you a
little while alone. I trust you will pardon me for adopting the means I
have to secure a short talk with you."
By this time Curtis had dismounted, and was standing at her side.
"Well, what is it, Miss Harcourt? I am happy to be at your service in
any way in my power."
"Thank you," she answered, hastily, "you have placed me under
obligations to you, but I venture to-night to ask one favor more."
"It is granted already," said Curtis.
Thanking him again, she proceeded: "You know my brother is in the Union
army, and I have not heard from him for several weeks; I wish you would
try to get this letter to him, and, if it is not asking too much," she
added, hesitatingly, "will you kindly bring me his reply, or at least
some word that I may know he is safe and well?"
Curtis took the letter from her hands, and, depositing it safely in an
inside pocket of his coat, he said "I will do my best to deliver the
letter, and, should I not return soon with an answer, you may know
something unavoidable has detained me."
As he stood there, gazing earnestly into the sweet face of his fair
companion, a sudden purpose to then and there declare his love for her
came into his mind. With him, to resolve was to act; extending his hand,
he took hers in a friendly clasp, and said: "Miss Harcourt, I am going
to bid you good-bye, with the hope of seeing you again very soon; but I
will not conceal from you the fact, that, in the fortunes of war, it is
possible that we may never meet again. Under these circumstances, then,
I make bold to tell you to-night something that, ordinarily, I would not
mention until your longer acquaintance with me would make it appear more
proper, at least so far as society rules are concerned.
"Miss Harcourt," he continued, still holding the hand that now lay
passively in his, "in the short time I have known you I have learned to
love you, and I am confident time only will strengthen that love. I do
not ask your answer now; when we meet again, if we do, you can tell me
my fate. If your answer then should be nay, I will try to bear it like a
man, respecting you none the less even if I fail to win the love I would
so highly prize. Good-bye, darling!" and lightly pressing her hand to
his lips, he threw himself into his saddle, and giving his noble animal
the rein, dashed away, leaving Miss Harcourt standing in a half-dazed
manner, straining her eyes after his figure, that in the pale moonlight
was rapidly disappearing from her view.
Curtis now set off for the headquarters of the Union army. Our friend
pushed on, and shortly after midnight arrived at the Landing, and from
here faced about to the east, and in the direction of Williamsburgh,
where the Union army, victorious in the battle just fought, were
encamped.
He now slackened his speed somewhat, to rest his jaded steed, and,
dropping the reins, allowed him to take a moderate walk, while he
himself fell into a deep reverie over the events of his trip.
On this occasion he had been very successful in his work in the rebel
capital, and had, so far, effectually escaped any suspicion as a spy.
Considering the watchful vigilance that at this time was maintained by
the rebels, Curtis had indeed done well; and it was with feelings of
thorough satisfaction that now, near the close of his arduous journey,
and when he felt reasonably secure from being molested, that he relaxed
somewhat his usual vigilance, and allowed himself and animal a much
needed rest.
He was not, however, destined to get through so easily as he had
anticipated. As he entered a small clump of timber, and while he was
unsuspecting any danger at this nearness to the Union camp, two mounted
men suddenly made their appearance from the side of the road, and from
where they had been concealed in the bushes, and, holding their cocked
weapons at his head, commanded him to halt.
At the same instant, men came pouring in from both sides of the woods,
that here skirted his path, and almost before he could realize his
situation, or who were his assailants, he was overpowered, taken from
his horse, and securely bound.
He soon discovered his captors were a band of guerillas, who had been
quartered in the grove, and he had by the merest chance stumbled right
into their midst. While he was quickly debating in his mind his chances
for escape, and his probable fate at their hands, he was led into the
presence of the captain of the band, who, with a few of his followers,
had evidently been sleeping about a camp-fire that had now burned low,
leaving only a bed of glowing embers, that cast a faint light on the
swarthy faces of the rough-looking men that now grouped yawningly about
it awaiting his coming.
"Who have you here," asked the Captain, as the party escorting Curtis
came up.
"Don't know, Capten," laconically answered one of the men; "we jest now
found him and handed him in here without askin' him enny questions; but
here he is, you can talk to him yourself."
Curtis was now unbound, and led forward, and stood facing the Captain.
As their eyes met, the recognition was mutual and instantaneous; in the
man that stood before him, my operative recognized no less a personage
than Dan McCowan, the man whom he had so unmercifully drubbed on a
former occasion, which has already been described.
At the same moment, McCowan saw who it was that had so unexpectedly
fallen into his hands, and with a wicked laugh and a horrible oath, he
sprang forward, and clutching him by the throat, exclaimed:
"By G--d, I have been looking for you for some time; it is my turn now."
It was evident that the fellow in his rage meant murder; but Curtis, who
was both brave and cool, besides being strong and active, wrenched loose
from his grip, and springing hastily backward, he dealt him, with the
rapidity of lightning, a powerful blow between the eyes, that felled him
like an ox. Then, before the lookers-on could scarcely realize what had
taken place, he leaped over the form of the prostrate man, and
disappeared in the darkness of the wood.
The Captain by this time regained his feet, and showering curses upon
his men for a pack of cowardly idiots, started off in pursuit, followed
by a half a score of his fellows, who now, in order to conciliate their
enraged leader, determined to retake the detective at all hazards.
Fortunately for Curtis, he had been allowed to retain his weapons, and
being fleet of foot, he had but little to fear.
He soon succeeded in eluding his pursuers, and, shortly after daylight,
found his way into the Union camp.
He then reported to me with his dispatches from Richmond, and related
his adventures here recorded.
I ought to state, however, that he did not, at that time, inform me of
his proposal to Miss Harcourt; but after remaining with me until the
close of the war, during which time he made many trips to and fro
between Richmond and the headquarters of the Federal army, after the
struggle was ended and we both had retired to the life of a citizen, he,
as a salesman in a business house in Chicago, I to my business as a
detective in the same city, then it was he related the story of his
courtship, and the manner in which he wooed and won the woman who was
then, and still is, his wife. As for the Harcourt family, they made
their way to the North, by the aid of my operative and young Harcourt,
and the courtship between Curtis and the daughter was kept up until the
close of the war, when they were married.
I will also say, that they are still living happily together, surrounded
by an interesting family of children, who with childlike eagerness
clamber on their papa's knees to hear him tell them stories of the war,
and his adventures before they were even born, a period that to them
seems ages and ages ago.
Dan McCowan was killed in an attack that his party, led by him, made on
a band of our scouts, shortly after the occurrence of the incidents
described in this chapter.
I would fain have dwelt longer on the work of young Curtis, and noted
more minutely the importance of his labors in the secret service, but a
lack of space and time compel me here to drop him with the passing
comment, that he was an excellent operative, and that he so faithfully
and efficiently did his work, that the subterranean headquarters, with
its corps of operatives, never did the Union cause any practical harm,
but a great deal of good, in furnishing intelligence of the movements
and intentions of the rebel forces.
[Illustration: NIGHT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.]